Kurt feels a small and electric thrill run up his spine as Wrench's fingertips close around the spade of his tail. As an appendage, it's probably the sturdiest of those available to him, well able to withstand being -- among other things -- grabbed, stepped on, yanked, bitten, used to support any number of tumbling tricks, and once, memorably, severed entirely from his body. It's strong and flexible and its presence has saved his life any number of times. Kurt had been honest in his reminder to Wrench; there's little that one mortal man, wounded and tired, could do to hurt him.
Still, in the same way that there are differences between having a hand gripped by an enemy and held softly by a loved one, so there are forms of touch which remind Kurt he is still, very much, a mortal creature as well. Behind Wrench's back, he takes a steadying breath, pushing away the shiver that crawls up his body to settle somewhere behind his ribs, focusing on the task in front of him.
The cut on Wrench's back is in a difficult place; it seems to follow his shoulder blade, long but thankfully shallow, tissues within already healing. Kurt balls tape and gauze in his fist and sets it aside, then reaches for the pack of sterile wipes. He knows a warning would be pointless and that Wrench is well aware of what he's trusting him to do, so instead he aims to work as efficiently as possible -- limiting the pain as much as he can, if he cannot stop it. He settles one hand on the opposite shoulder, as much to keep the tall man still as to offer comfort, as he sets about first cleaning the wound, then applying antiseptic, ignoring as best he can any small signs of discomfort from his friend. It's in an awkward place for any sort of bandaging to remain still and not cause further harm, so Kurt just places a large pad of gauze over it and tapes it in place.
Before he steps away, his fingertips lightly trace the direction of the wound, thoughtful, before touching gently the ghosts of other scars on his back. It must have been a truly distressing way for someone like Wrench to be attacked, he surmises, and realises belatedly just how much of the man's trust he's been given, unasked for. The thought of it swells in his chest, in that place near to his heart, and the scents of the medicine and the fire in the grate take on notes of the holiest censers as he breathes in around it.
O-K? He signs as he steps back into Wrench's line of sight, his gaze searching the other man's face.
no subject
Still, in the same way that there are differences between having a hand gripped by an enemy and held softly by a loved one, so there are forms of touch which remind Kurt he is still, very much, a mortal creature as well. Behind Wrench's back, he takes a steadying breath, pushing away the shiver that crawls up his body to settle somewhere behind his ribs, focusing on the task in front of him.
The cut on Wrench's back is in a difficult place; it seems to follow his shoulder blade, long but thankfully shallow, tissues within already healing. Kurt balls tape and gauze in his fist and sets it aside, then reaches for the pack of sterile wipes. He knows a warning would be pointless and that Wrench is well aware of what he's trusting him to do, so instead he aims to work as efficiently as possible -- limiting the pain as much as he can, if he cannot stop it. He settles one hand on the opposite shoulder, as much to keep the tall man still as to offer comfort, as he sets about first cleaning the wound, then applying antiseptic, ignoring as best he can any small signs of discomfort from his friend. It's in an awkward place for any sort of bandaging to remain still and not cause further harm, so Kurt just places a large pad of gauze over it and tapes it in place.
Before he steps away, his fingertips lightly trace the direction of the wound, thoughtful, before touching gently the ghosts of other scars on his back. It must have been a truly distressing way for someone like Wrench to be attacked, he surmises, and realises belatedly just how much of the man's trust he's been given, unasked for. The thought of it swells in his chest, in that place near to his heart, and the scents of the medicine and the fire in the grate take on notes of the holiest censers as he breathes in around it.
O-K? He signs as he steps back into Wrench's line of sight, his gaze searching the other man's face.